The Amazing Wilmer Dooley: A Mumpley Middle School Mystery

By Fowler DeWitt and Rodolfo Montalvo

Student scientist Wilmer Dooley and his friends—and enemies—are back with another hilarious mystery to solve in this zany, action-packed sequel to The Contagious Colors of Mumpley Middle School.

Wilmer Dooley can’t wait to be a seventh grader. But first, he really can’t wait for the 45th Annual State Science Fair and Consortium. It will be a blissful summer weekend spent hanging out with Ernie and impressing Roxie with his dazzling project on bacteria.

But Wilmer’s dreams come crashing down when he arrives at the dilapidated Sac à Puces Palladium, Lodge, and Resort-Like Hotel. First, his old biology teacher, Mrs. Padgett, is a chaperone—and she absolutely despises Wilmer. Next he learns that the fair’s final activity involves being stranded in the dark woods and trying not to get eaten by bears. And worst of all, his arch nemesis, Claudius, is there—and he’s brought along his equally rotten cousin Vlad.

Wilmer quickly begins to suspect that the two are planning something horribly sinister. But as he grows more and more concerned, the other kids begin behaving more and more strangely...almost as if they’re being brainwashed. And when Wilmer discovers the diabolical scheme that’s afoot, it’s even more terrible than he had imagined—and he may be too late to stop it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Atheneum Books for Young Readers
• Release date: Aug 26, 2014
• ISBN: 9781442498563

Fowler DeWitt

Fowler DeWitt has been called “The World’s Greatest Living Author” by three of his aunts. His worldwide fame spread early when, as a child, he discovered the rare radioactive mineral now known as Fowlerite. Although his accomplishments are too many to mention in a single paragraph, DeWitt also owns the world’s largest collection of mustaches. He currently lives by himself but refuses to divulge where due to his crippling phobia of hats. You can learn more about DeWitt on his Facebook page. Biographer’s note: Some claim Fowler DeWitt is the same person as children’s author Allan Woodrow, since they have never been spotted in the same room together. But if they were the same person they’d always be in the same room together. As such, these claims cannot be substantiated. You can make your own conclusions by visiting Woodrow and DeWitt’s shared website: AllanWoodrow.com.

Book preview

CHAPTER TWO

Science Consortium Packing Checklist

By Wilmer Dooley

Projector

Fiberglass stands

Video player

Jars of glowing foods

14 hungry leeches (in a jar)

Science goggles

Magnifying Glass

Four Five pairs of underwear

The power of observation!

My lucky Albert Einstein socks

Funny science jokes (to impress Roxie)

Mr. Dooley stood next to the family station wagon. He wore a lab coat and no pants or shoes. Wilmer was used to his dad’s absentmindedness, but forgetting to put on pants was a little extreme, even for him.

Mr. Ignatius P. Dooley was a world-renowned scientist, celebrated for the invention of SugarBUZZZZ!, the wondrous line of snacks and drinks that came in twelve fluorescently colored flavors. More recently he had created VeggiBUZZZZ! This new line of glowing vegetables made healthy eating fun, even sort of cool, and had become an immediate sensation.

Wilmer still preferred his plain everyday green spinach to the vibrantly glowing pink variety his dad had created. But most kids strongly disagreed.

Nice legs, Dad, Wilmer said.

Wilmer’s father looked down at his bare, hairy limbs. I had a small polyester fire in the lab. I’m afraid my trousers took the worst of it. He held up a small swatch of glowing violet fabric. ClothesBUZZZZ! he announced. His voice switched to a low radio baritone: Why wear regular old clothes when yours can glow like a thousand streetlamps? Night jogging has never been safer. Imagine how easy it will be to find your kids at the mall. Make a statement with ClothesBUZZZZ! And that statement is: ‘Look at me! I glow in the dark!’

Wilmer shrugged. Sounds like a winner, Dad.

Mr. Dooley nodded his head. If only the clothes didn’t spontaneously burst into flames. Or cause horrible boils to erupt all over your skin. He rolled up the right sleeve of his lab coat to reveal a dozen red bumps covering his arm. Do you think that’s a problem?

Wilmer nodded. I think that’s a deal-killer, Dad.

Mr. Dooley frowned. That’s what I feared. Well, a scientist’s work is never done. Are you two ready to go to the science fair?

We sure are, said Wilmer with an excited grin as Ernie yawned. But I still think you need to wear pants and shoes.

Mr. Dooley sighed and jogged back to the house while Wilmer and Ernie loaded the car with their luggage. Wilmer’s father trotted past Mrs. Dooley, who was walking briskly down the driveway with their younger sons in tow. Wilmer’s short, thin, and rosy-cheeked mother carried a plastic food container. She loved to cook and bake, and her concoctions were always original, sometimes brilliant, but usually dreadful.

I can’t believe you’re leaving us for a whole weekend! she wept. She handed her container to Ernie and wrapped Wilmer in a bear hug. My little Wilmer-Poo is all grown up!

Wilmer squirmed out of his mother’s grasp, his face turning as red as one of his father’s VeggiBUZZZZ! tomatoes.

Mrs. Dooley turned to Wilmer’s brothers and wagged her finger at them sternly. Don’t just stand there, she ordered. Hug your brother good-bye.

Do we have to? complained seven-year-old Sherman. Mrs. Dooley’s frown answered his question. Sherman put an unenthusiastic arm around Wilmer, who awkwardly hugged him back.

What’s in here, Mrs. Dooley? asked Ernie, sniffing the food container she had handed him. It smells like oranges, vinegar, and horseradish.

That’s because they’re orange, vinegar, and horseradish brownies, said Mrs. Dooley proudly. With a smidgen of yarn.

Onion salt! yelped her youngest son, twenty-month-old Preston.

Yes, and a dash of onion salt, confirmed Mrs. Dooley. And really, that makes all the difference. Preston smiled proudly. He often assisted Mrs. Dooley in her cooking.

Wilmer turned slightly green, but Ernie licked his lips. They sound delicious, Mrs. D. Ernie loved sweets even more than Wilmer loved creamed spinach.

Preston wrapped both his arms around Wilmer in a heartfelt good-bye hug. Garlic powder! he shouted with sincerity.

Um, you too, said Wilmer.

The front door of the house banged open and Mr. Dooley bounded toward them. He now wore a bright green-and-blue pair of mermaid-patterned shorts and winter boots. Wilmer didn’t think they were much of an improvement over his earlier wardrobe choices, but at least his dad wouldn’t be arrested.

Mrs. Dooley blew her nose and wiped her tears while Wilmer, Ernie, and Mr. Dooley piled into the station wagon. Soon the three were waving good-bye and heading down the driveway.

You know, said Mr. Dooley as they pulled onto the main road, I entered this same science fair when I was your age. He scratched his forehead. No, I’m thinking of the summer I visited your Aunt Ethel’s cattle farm.

Aunt Ethel is a truck driver, said Wilmer.

Well, something like that. Mr. Dooley then proceeded to tell a long, boring story about his failed attempts at creating fluorescent livestock.

Ernie popped open the plastic top from Mrs. Dooley’s container. It sat on the seat between them. He lifted a brownie and deeply inhaled its overbearing horseradish scent. Want one? he asked Wilmer.

Wilmer’s stomach voiced a loud objection, and he grimaced with disgust. Ernie shrugged and chomped down on the gloppy treat.

How is it? asked Wilmer.

Ernie swallowed. A bit too much yarn. He picked some string out of his teeth.

Wilmer looked out the window. They still had a couple more hours of driving. He was sure this would be the best weekend of his life, if only that nagging suspicion of trouble would dissolve, like sulfur in a jar of carbon disulfide.

CHAPTER THREE

Dear Journal,

I know I haven’t written in a while. I’ve been trying to learn all about diseases, now that I’ve decided to become a doctor someday instead of a scientist. I almost feel guilty going to this conference for future scientists! But doctors and scientists have lots in common. They both wear white lab coats. One says Aha! when making discoveries, and the other says Ahhhh! when holding a tongue depressor.

Scientific journals and medical journals are really similar too. Which means that keeping a scientific journal is pretty much the same thing as keeping a medical journal. So no more excuses for not writing.

We’re driving up to the science consortium right now. Ernie is playing on his iNoise. What a waste of time! Why play games when you can do things like memorize the scientific names for birds?

European robin: Erithacus rubecula

American crow: Corvus brachyrhynchos

See? Isn’t that fun?

I’m a bit nervous about seeing Roxie. She’s not entering the science contest. She’ll be reporting for the school newspaper and for Monday Mumpley Musings, her biweekly school-broadcast radio show.

I should have seen her this summer like I promised. I’m just a big chicken. People should call me Jersey Giant, which is the largest breed of chicken, weighing eleven to thirteen pounds.

Scientific name: Gallus gallus domesticus

It’ll be nice to get away from town. Sure, I helped find a cure for that disease. But were the appearance on the evening news, the newspaper articles, and the honorary Wilmer Dooley Day parade really necessary? The papers are calling me ‘The Amazing Wilmer Dooley’! People keep asking to shake my hand. It’s nice, unless they’ve been picking their nose or eating fried chicken, which is why I usually carry hand sanitizer. It’s weird getting so much attention. I guess this is how celebrities feel.

But I’m not a celebrity. I’m just an observant scientist. And someone who likes clean hands.

Signing off,

Wilmer Dooley

Wilmer, Ernie, and Mr. Dooley stood inside the main lobby of the Sac à Puces Palladium, Lodge, and Resortlike Hotel. The French name was the nicest thing about the place. It smelled like mold. The walls and low ceiling were cracking, the wallpaper was peeling, and the lights were dim and dreary. The brown carpeting was worn and frayed. The framed paintings on the wall were all of sailboats, which was nice until you looked closely and realized the sailboats were sinking, many with sharks close by.

Man, this place is a pit, said Ernie. I thought you said this was a fancy hotel.

"No, I said this placed sounded fancy," said Wilmer with a forced smile. Still, his disappointment ran deep.

The lobby teemed with the finest kid scientists in the state: the smartest of the smart, the geekiest of the geeks. Some seemed serious, wearing thick glasses and holding personal science journals or electronic tablets for note-taking. Other kids, however, ran around, yelling and pushing and bumping into people. Wilmer frowned. Future scientists shouldn’t just run amok.

A good scientist was in control of his emotions at all times.

Mr. Dooley rested his hand on Wilmer’s shoulder and gave his son a soft, encouraging squeeze. Are you sure you have everything? Didn’t forget your toothbrush or hairbrush, your goggles or your pocket protector?

I’m good, said Wilmer.

Most importantly, don’t forget to observe!

I won’t. Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll make you proud.

You always do, said Mr. Dooley. He sniffled and wiped a tear from his eye. Oh, I envy you two! he exclaimed. Just you and science, floating in the seas of perception, drowning in the tides of discovery, swimming in the squall of invention, and rolling in the rocking waters of wit! And, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom.

Mr. Dooley hurried off, narrowly avoiding three sprinting kids as he weaved his way across the crowded lobby.

Ernie pointed. Over there. Three o’clock. Claudius Dill.

Claudius stood across the room. Wilmer stared darts at his nemesis. He wished he could throw darts at him, too—but his eyes would need to suffice. Claudius chatted with a kid who shared Claudius’s straight dark hair, swampy green eyes, and despicable scowl. In fact, they were practically twins, except that this new kid was much heavier than Claudius and better dressed, with ironed slacks and a bow tie.

As if having one Claudius-sized Claudius wasn’t bad enough, Wilmer dreaded meeting an extra-large, fancier version of him.

Next to regular Claudius and plump Claudius stood a tall, imposing-looking man. Wilmer recognized him as the famous Dr. Fernando Dill, Claudius’s father and the World’s Greatest Doctor, according to a recent award.

Claudius looked at Wilmer. Wilmer stared back at Claudius. Claudius sneered. Wilmer sneered too. If the heat of hate was as hot as the sun, which is approximately ten thousand degrees Fahrenheit on its surface according to most calculations, the whole room would have melted on the spot.

Claudius seethed, steam practically rising from his ears like an overheated teapot. Wilmer Dooley! The name sat in his craw like a lump of stale green gelatin. Claudius knew Wilmer was invited to the consortium weekend, but he had hoped Wilmer would have gotten lost, been sick, overslept, or better still, been eaten by armadillos.

But no such luck!

Wilmer—that show-off—was probably here to brag:

Look at me! I cured Mumpley Middle School! I’m good and kind and help people, because kittens are fuzzy and warm blankets are snuggly.

It was enough to make a guy sick.

The Amazing Wilmer Dooley, that’s what the papers were calling him now. Simply horrible. Amazing and Wilmer didn’t belong together in the same sentence, unless that sentence was, Everyone hates the amazingly annoying Wilmer Dooley.

And what had Wilmer done to be anointed amazing, anyway? Save a few hundred kids from certain death? Big deal. Wilmer didn’t even deserve to attend this science weekend. But Claudius did. He’d earned his invitation by coming to school every Friday during summer vacation and emptying Mrs. Padgett’s garbage can. True, it was already empty since no one attended school over the summer. Still, he needed to make amends. He had momentarily revolted against Mrs. Padgett and joined alliances with Wilmer to save the school last year. That had been a lapse of judgment. All it did was make Wilmer a hero.

But Claudius was a hero too! It was so unfair—not even a single magazine article had been written about him.

Well, no. There had been one article: People Who Know Wilmer Dooley but Who Are Otherwise Unimportant. Claudius was quoted as saying, Wilmer Dooley is my hero. I’m his biggest fan. I am! I am! Upon reading it, Claudius had ripped the article into tiny shreds and then gagged. They had it terribly wrong! What he had actually said was, Wilmer Dooley? I’m eating a hero, referring to the ham-and-cheese sub sandwich he had ordered at the deli, which had a broken air conditioner. This place needs a bigger fan. I love ham! I love ham! He should have known the reporter would get it wrong. That Gwendolyn Bray, the star news reporter, was barely paying attention when Claudius spoke. She was too busy primping her hair and playing with her old-fashioned tape recorder.

Claudius needed to put Wilmer in his place. He would start by winning the science fair this weekend, if only because that meant Wilmer wouldn’t. First place was a brand-new, top-of-the-line 1,000X binocular compound digital microscope with a 360-degree swiveling head and multidimensional time-lapse imaging. Quite pricey, actually. Claudius had four of them at home. But he wanted to win first place to make Wilmer squirm, not for any stupid prize.